


Your Gentle Touch

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Acephobia, Asexual Percival Graves, Asexual Positivity, Boundaries, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, Insecurity, Internalized Acephobia, Isolation, M/M, Self-Doubt, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: The first things new aurors learn about Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, are that he’s hard but fair and has your back until the end, is the best duelist in MACUSA, and needs his personal space.They don’t know that one of those things is wrong.Newt Scamander seems to see right through him, and the more Graves feels his casual touches the harder it is to ignore how much he needs it.





	Your Gentle Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Have some asexual Percival Graves, right in time for Pride month!
> 
> Once I got the idea for this fic I just couldn't let it go, and I hope you enjoy it <3

“Seriously? Why not?”

Graves pulls back, out of O’Connell’s arms, and retreats across the couch.  “I’m sorry, I just - it’s not -”  He clears his throat, trying to pull himself together, because what did he really expect?  “It’s just not something I like to do.”

O’Connell stares at him as though he’d said he didn’t like to breathe.

“Look, I know it’s different with two blokes, but what exactly did you think we were leading up to here?”

Graves shakes his head, frustrated - at himself, at letting it get this far, at even trying when he should have known better.  “It’s not that.  Really,” he adds, at O’Connell’s disbelieving look.

“It’s not your first time, is it?  Have you even tried it?”

“No, and yes - it’s not, and I have.”

“And?”

_And I didn’t like it_ , Graves wants to say, but he knows that’s not enough of a reason.  He shakes his head.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be tonight.  If you’re not ready we can wait, try it again later.”

“No.”

“Not ever?”

Graves shakes his head again, miserable.  “I think I should go.”

He stands to leave, and O’Connell doesn’t stop him.

Every time, it’s the same.  He lays in bed that night with the memory of O’Connell’s touch on his skin, and he tries not to let the ache eat him alive.

_Arms around him, a hand on his cheek.  Fingers through his hair, making strands fall into his face, out of place.  A hand around his waist, tracing his ribs through his shirt, palm flat on his chest and legs tangled together -_

He needs it.  He lies awake and he wraps the blanket tight around himself and he needs it.  He just doesn’t need anything else.  He doesn’t need lips on his skin, or a hand at the front of his pants, or quick fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt before he can stop them.

He doesn’t need any more reasons to know that he’s falling short.

So he keeps his distance.  He stops trying to find something he can’t have, because it isn’t there.  It’s a fantasy, it’s not how relationships work.  And if there’s one thing that’s become abundantly clear to him, it’s that he’s unsuited for a relationship.

The first things new aurors learn about Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, are that he’s hard but fair and has your back until the end, is the best duelist in MACUSA, and needs his personal space.

They don’t know that one of those things is wrong.

Graves doesn’t need personal space - _they_ need him to have personal space.  They need him to maintain it carefully, lest they get the wrong idea and ask him to coffee, to dinner, and eventually, inevitably, to bed.

So Graves refrains from touch whenever possible.  He gives suggestions during training verbally rather than guiding them into position himself, praises them after a successful mission with glowing words rather than the bear hug he would prefer, and doesn’t let himself reach out with the casual touches others indulge in.

Eventually, everybody learns; Percival Graves doesn’t like to be touched.

On the few occasions when he can’t stand it any longer, when he gets irritable and restless and loses focus and just needs _someone,_ it always ends the same way.  He wishes reminding himself of that made it easier.

There’s only so long his friends and colleagues are willing to play matchmaker, and eventually they give up.  It becomes abundantly obvious to them that Graves is married to his work, and trying to get him to divide his time enough to pay attention to an actual person is futile.

That part did get easier as he climbed through the ranks - it made it more believable, at least.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Newt Scamander doesn’t seem to notice.  Or rather he does, but he notices the wrong thing.

Graves doesn't know what to make of Newt when he first turns up at MACUSA, first on charges and then not, with a box full of creatures that are almost certainly illegal both in England and the United States, and a certain obliviousness to any rules which he finds inconvenient.  But Picquery seems to like him, Tina won’t shut up about him, and eventually Graves gets used to having him around.

The first time Newt throws an arm around his shoulders and claps him on the back after a productive meeting Graves’ knees nearly buckle.  He leans in against Newt’s chest instinctively as Tina’s eyes go wide as saucers, and Newt’s touch is gone much too quick.  Tina drags Newt out of the room explaining the first things anybody knows about Percival Graves, and Graves himself is left to lean against the table and close his eyes, wishing Newt had stayed.

It almost certainly won’t happen again now that Tina has put Newt right, or thinks she has.  There’s nothing Graves can do about it.  He can’t encourage it, because he can’t imagine the messages that would send when he seems to reject the touches of everyone else.  Newt would think the wrong thing of him for sure.  Even if Newt were just being friendly, which is possible, Graves can’t take the chance.  It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped.

He’s shocked the next day when Newt stops him in the corridor with a hand to his upper arm, and almost can’t answer his question with the surprise of it.

Once he manages to gather the right words Newt squeezes his arm gently in thanks and heads back on his way, and Graves doesn’t understand it.  Surely Tina told him not to?  But it’s not as though Graves minds, it’s the opposite actually.  It feels nice, and the possible implication may make him anxious, but the touch also makes him feel calm.

Graves doesn’t encourage it exactly, but he certainly doesn’t discourage it either.  And Newt seems to notice.  He’ll wrap an arm around Graves’ shoulders, place a hand on his arm in greeting, and each time it makes Graves want to close his eyes and lean into it as though it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

It gets harder to ignore how much he needs it.  The more he feels Newt’s touches, the more he relaxes into them, the more often he’s kept awake at night by the ache of isolation.

Eventually Newt asks him to coffee.  He does it as though it were easy, a part of any other conversation, with a quick “Want to get coffee Saturday?” as they’re both leaving work.

Graves stops in the hallway, caught, unsure how to answer.  He probably should have been prepared for the question by now, but he’s not.  He should say no.  He should say no now before this has a chance to get out of hand.  He’s just getting to know Newt, they seem to work well together despite Graves’ initial expectations, and he should say no before he ends up ruining all of that.

But he likes Newt, they seem to work well together, and he doesn’t want to say no.

Newt watches him expectantly.  It’s a bad idea, a really terrible idea, but maybe it will be good while it lasts.

“Yes.  Yes, I’d like that.”

Newt beams at him and claps him on the shoulder, looking so pleased with his answer that Graves dreads the thought of what will happen once Newt finds out.  “Excellent.  Two o’clock?”

Graves nods and it’s a terrible idea, really terrible, but all that evening he hums in his kitchen as he makes himself dinner, thinking of Newt’s touch on his arm and his smile.

When Saturday finally comes Graves has to stop himself from arriving at the agreed upon cafe twenty minutes early.  He paces his living room before finally deciding he’s had enough and leaving his house to apparate to an out of the way alley, quickly covering the rest of the distance to the cafe.

He still arrives a few minutes before the hour, but when he enters he spots Newt already seated and walks over to join him.  Newt looks up as he approaches, and a smile spreads over his face which Graves can’t help but return.

Graves had worried, vaguely, that they wouldn’t have much to talk about outside of work, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.  Newt shares stories about his creatures which make Graves laugh, and he takes an interest in Graves’ own life as well, pushing past his denial that he really has nothing interesting to tell.

It’s nice, casual, and Graves can’t help but relax.

They’ve already been talking for a while when Newt reaches across the table to take Graves’ hand in both of his own.  Graves’ words trail off and he breathes as Newt strokes his thumb over the soft skin of his inner wrist, gently massaging his palm.  The touch occupies the whole of his thoughts, and his eyes fall closed for a moment as he just _feels_ it.  Newt draws the tension out of him, slow, steady, and eventually Newt starts up another story about his time in the field, giving Graves the excuse to listen, relax, and get lost in the gentle press of Newt’s hands.

It’s easy, maybe a little too easy, but Graves feels lighter than he has in months.

When they part Newt asks Graves to dinner, and he accepts.

He spends the rest of the day in a sort of pleasant buzz, and somehow the paperwork he brought home with him doesn’t seem so arduous.

Graves does his best to let himself forget the anxiety over what comes next.  Time with Newt is pleasant and calming, and he tries to focus on that rather than worry about what it might turn into.  It’s not just the touches, though that’s part of it.  Graves finds that he genuinely enjoys Newt’s company.  He even starts smiling in the office, sending his aurors into a flurry of concern which he can’t help but find amusing.

It’s when Picquery asks him one afternoon whether there isn’t something new in his personal life that Graves really notices the change in himself.  He feels better.  Lighter, more at ease, and it shows.  He’s sleeping better, eating more consistently, comes to work with more energy, and most of all he might even be _happy._  

The nagging thought in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be, that he doesn’t deserve it, that he’s leading Newt on, is easier to ignore some times than others.

It becomes a habit to spend the weekends together, either out or, more often now, spending the evening at Graves’ home.  They’ll cook together, laugh over dinner, and Graves will lean into Newt’s arms as they listen to the radio late into the night.  It’s a comfortable pattern, and the dread of it ending fades into the background.

He and Newt aren’t exactly inconspicuous, and before too long the gossip that they just might be _together_ starts to get around.  Graves is somewhat amused to watch all the confusion it causes them - he knows they’d all written him off long ago.  For good reason, he thinks, even if they don’t know it.

But to see them try to make sense of this new development is quite the spectacle, in no small part because they all go out of their way to pretend as though absolutely nothing were out of the ordinary.  And for a group of highly trained witches and wizards who were hand selected for their abilities in secrecy, infiltration, and concealment, they really do fail quite spectacularly.

It seems to have become quite the romantic story behind his back, what with the kind and eccentric Englishman appearing one day to steal the heart of the solitary and distant Director.

Ah well.  It’s not doing any harm, and it gives him and Newt something to chuckle about.

Graves refuses to think about how the story will change once Newt finds out the truth, and once the news spreads to the rest of MACUSA.  What role will they cast him in then?  The villain who broke an innocent man’s heart?

It’s thoughts like these that makes him pull back from Newt slightly.  It would be safer not to get so involved.  Perhaps if it ended now, if Graves let it just taper off, they could still be friends in the end and he wouldn’t lose Newt completely.  

But the idea fills him with a hollowness that makes him feel as though he’s drowning, and he can’t do it.  He doesn’t want to go back to being alone, not now.  

Not after he’s found Newt.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

It’s a quiet Friday evening, and Graves has just finished magicking the dishes clean from dinner.  Newt waits for him on the couch and smiles as he comes over, warm and inviting, and Graves can’t wait to be in his arms.

He curls against Newt on the couch, radio playing softly in the background.  It’s something classical, and Graves doesn’t recognize it but it’s nice.  It’s nice to be here with Newt, to feel the warmth of their bodies pressed together and the soft glow it inspires in his chest.  Newt’s hands card through his hair, ruffling it into disarray, but Graves doesn’t mind.  He loves it in fact, loves the feeling of Newt’s fingers massaging into his scalp, and the way Newt’s hand strokes over the back of his neck with each pass.  He’s relaxed and content, mind at ease.

Graves tucks his head in against Newt’s neck, and hears Newt’s quiet chuckle at the movement.  He presses a hand to Graves’ cheek along with his lips to Graves’ forehead, and Graves closes his eyes.

Newt holds him tight, close.  His fingers dip under Graves’ chin, tilting his head up, leaving kisses down the side of his face until… until he gets to Graves’ lips.

Graves stills, not pushing Newt away but not reciprocating either.  His own lips remain closed against the softness of Newt’s, unwilling to let this cross into something it can’t be.  At least not anymore that he already has.

He knew it wouldn’t last.

Newt pulls back from him, feeling his reluctance, and Graves takes the opportunity to shift away slightly, putting space between them and retreating to his own end of the couch.

“Percival?  What’s wrong?”

It was such a nice evening.  It was such a nice evening, why did it have to be tonight that everything falls apart?  He’s heard those words so many times.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, Newt, I -” He swallows, trying to think past the painful contracting of his chest, disappointment and guilt and nerves all mixing into one.  He has to explain it so Newt at least understands that it’s nothing to do with him.  This is Graves’ fault.

“I just - I don’t - I don’t ever need to do that sort of thing.  Not with anybody, I’ve tried with other people and it always ends the same, it’s something to do with me and I shouldn’t have led you on I just…”  He’s rambling, he knows it, but he can’t seem to make himself stop.  He realizes with a pang that he can’t very well leave his own house - he has no way out of the situation this time.

Newt’s face creases with confusion.  “Hey, it’s okay, slow down.”  His tone is soft, steady, as though he were trying to quiet a spooked creature.  “You don’t need kissing?” he asks gently.  “Sex?”

Hopelessly, Graves shakes his head.  He wishes he could give that to Newt, that he could make Newt stay, but he can’t.

“With men?” he asks, “Or with me?”

Graves shakes his head again, wishing there was some way to explain.  “With - with anyone,” he says, voice small.  “I - Newt, I want to be with you, but I can’t.  I can’t do - that.  I’ve never wanted to, with anyone.”

“Okay,” Newt says.  He looks as though he’d like to lean towards Graves, but he holds himself back.  Giving Graves his space.  “So you don't like to be touched in general? I'm sorry, I thought -”

“No, I do, that's the problem,” Graves says, desperate. “I need touch, but not - not this far.”  If he didn’t need it at all he could just keep to himself, he wouldn't have to keep doing this to other people, making them think they were going to get something and then pulling back at the last minute.

“Okay,” Newt says again.  Graves can hear the next words before they even leave his mouth.  Newt will mutter something about how it’s not what he’s been led to expect, that he doesn’t know what Graves thought would happen, he’ll make his excuses, he’ll leave.  “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

And… what?  That’s… that’s not how this goes.  Graves stares at him in shock.  He must have misheard, or misunderstood somehow.  “I don’t - what do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have assumed I knew what you wanted,” Newt explains.  “I’m sorry.”

Graves doesn’t understand.  Is Newt sorry it ended up this way?  Sorry they can’t be together?

“Percival…” Newt reaches out a hand towards him, not touching but offering.  “Why don’t you come back?  We can talk about it.  You can help me to understand better.”

Graves just shakes his head, confused.  “What?  Don’t you want to…”  leave.  Don’t you want to leave.  He gestures vaguely towards the door, and Newt seems to understand.

“No, Percival.  Of course not.  Do _you_ want me to leave?”

“No!”  That’s the last thing he wants, _no,_ he wants Newt to stay.

“Then that’s settled.  No one’s leaving.  Okay?”

Slowly, Graves nods.  “Okay.”  Newt’s hand is still outstretched, and slowly, carefully, Graves moves back towards him.  He folds himself in against Newt’s side and Newt wraps his arm around his shoulder, gentle and secure.  

Graves doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen next, he doesn’t know what to expect.  He wonders if Newt still expects something of him, thinking it will just come later perhaps, or that he needs to be talked into it.  He’s had people think that before, and it’s almost worse than when it just ends.  It draws it out.  

But Newt… doesn’t seem to be thinking that.

“Let me try to understand, all right?” Newt asks, voice soft.  Graves nods against him, feeling vulnerable and apprehensive, not daring yet to hope.  “You want to have a relationship with me, and do all the things we’ve been doing up to now, but not take it any further physically.  Is that right?”  Graves nods again, heart sinking.  It sounds ridiculous when Newt says it, how could anybody ask for that?  

“Okay.  We can do that.”  Newt’s hand squeezes on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort, but Graves can see he still doesn’t understand.

“Newt, I don’t just mean now.  I mean ever.  I don’t want to take it further, ever.”

“I know.  I shouldn’t have assumed you did, and I’m sorry, Percival.  I should have asked.”

Graves can’t believe what he’s hearing.  A spark of hope and relief starts to bloom in his chest and he doesn’t want to let it, not yet, but he can’t stop it.

“Don’t you need it, though?  Isn’t it important to you?”

“You’re important to me.”

Graves turns to bury his head in Newt’s shoulder, clinging to him, the flood of emotions hitting him full force now.  Newt wraps his arms around him tight, holding him, stroking his back, quieting him.  Graves has never felt this before, this mix of gratitude and relief and care from another person.

Newt is murmuring in his ear, reassuring him, and Graves lets himself listen.  “We’ll figure it out.  We’ll find something that works for both of us, me _and_ you, and it’ll be okay.  But it doesn’t have to be tonight, all right?  No need to rush, we have plenty of time.”

Graves nods against his chest, losing himself in Newt’s arms, in the embrace he thought he’d never feel again.

They stay like that for a long time.  Newt keeps stroking through his hair, pressing Graves head close against his chest, and Graves just breathes in the scent of him and lets himself feel.

It’s never gone like this before.

Once Graves quiets Newt shifts him back a little, cupping a hand along his jaw and looking into his eyes.  Graves is surprised to realize that his cheeks are wet.

“We’ll figure it out together, just like anything else.  It’s not a big deal - or it doesn’t have to be.  And it’s not a problem.”

Graves nods, holding eye contact, and Newt smiles.

“Come here,” Newt says, shifting to lay along the couch and inviting Graves to follow him.  Graves does, pressing the length of their bodies together and settling on Newt’s chest, his head resting on his shoulder, still clinging to him.  Newt folds his arms around him and Graves never wants him to let go.  He feels shaken and exposed and despite it all he feels _safe_ , because Newt is here.

Newt stayed.

Graves falls asleep like that, listening to the rhythm of Newt’s heart and feeling his chest rise and fall beneath him.  With a flick of Newt’s wand the lights dim, and Graves drifts off into the warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of this fic ended up being based on my own experiences, and it was a bit of a personal story to write. Hopefully you love ace Graves as much as I do, and I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Find me at [ mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com ](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
